The Story of You
by britishsconesahoy
Summary: While searching through the attic, I found a book about me, describing my life in perfect detail. Though, now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn't have read it.


**Title: The Story of You**

 **Summary: While searching through the attic, I found a book about me, describing my life in perfect detail. Though, now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn't have read it.**

 **Warning: Doesn't contain a happy ending, that's all I'm saying.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia .**

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We stood frozen in the doorway of the attic as our widened eyes stared at the mounds of junk and clutter littering the dusty room. Apparently, there was supposed to be a book we needed for a school assignment hidden in this maze of boxes and bookshelves, but somehow I doubted we would be able to find it.

"Wow, it's a good thing I came up here with you, Arthur." Alfred remarked as we slowly entered the rarely used room. "It would probably take you days to find it in this mess."

"Yeah, thanks." I muttered as I began sifting through some boxes. "Let's just start."

It only took a good twenty minutes until Alfred was ready to quit. I had already assumed that that would be the case, so I wasn't at all surprised when he gave me his well thought out excuse as to why he needed a break.

"Hey, Arthur, I know you really need my help finding this book and all, but I kind of forgot about this errand I have to run for my mom. I'll be back as soon as I'm done though."

I didn't even bother looking up from the box of books I was searching through. "Go ahead."

"Really? Thanks, Artie! You're the best!"

I sighed as he ran out the door, leaving me with the rest of the clutter to look through. He never was a good partner to work with, which left me wondering why I kept choosing him every time. I guess I never learnt from my mistakes.

Reluctantly, I picked up another box and once again began to sort through its old, dusty contents, keeping my eyes open for the book I was looking for. One by one, I passed by each book, none of them donning the title of which I was searching.

As I began to reach the end of the books that were kept in that box, I silently prayed that one of them would be the one I was looking for so desperately. My hope though began to whither as I muttered the names of the titles I was seeing, the end of the pile getting closer and closer, yet none of them were the one I had in mind.

" _Moby Dick, The Woman in White, Gulliver's Travels, The Story of You_ -"

My hands stopped as I read aloud that title. The name of the book caught me off guard, while the other ones seemed vaguely familiar, this one didn't ring a bell at all.

Temporarily forgetting my original mission, I slowly picked up the book and observed its cover. It was nothing spectacular, just a plain, white font written on a plain, black backdrop. Turning the book over, there seemed to be no indication of who the author was. Curiously, I opened the book and found a publishing date on the back of the cover; March 22, 2017.

But that was today's date.

I quickly opened to the first page, and my heart almost stopped as I read the first chapter's title; _The Birth of Arthur Kirkland_.

This was impossible. There was no way that this book was my biography! As much as I couldn't believe it, I couldn't help myself from continuing to read.

 _"Arthur Kirkland was born on Thursday, the fourteenth of April in the year two thousand. At eight thirty-three in the morning, he was delivered at the Cambridge University Hospital in Cambridge, England, United Kingdom. He was born to..."_

I tore my eyes from the page just after reading the first two sentences. It was completely accurate, it had my birthdate, time, and location. As I skimmed through the next few paragraphs, it told me who my parents were, exactly what happened at the hospital, and described my parents bringing me home to the exact house I had grown up in back in England. It was disturbingly accurate.

As much as I wanted to take the book downstairs and ask my parents if this was their doing, my curiosity got the better of me and urged me to continue reading. Hesitantly, I scanned through the next pages. I read about my first birthday party, and though I had no memory of it, the book's description fit perfectly with the story my parents had told me of it.

The book contained the details of the imaginary friend I had created as a child, Flying Mint Bunny. I compared the book's description of her with the memory that I had of her, and it was dead on accurate. This could in no way be the work of my parents, for I had never described to them what Flying Mint Bunny had looked like.

Suddenly, I didn't want to bring this downstairs. I didn't think I wanted to show anybody, for it had some pretty big secrets of mine that I didn't want anyone to see. My perspective on our move to America was written in great detail, almost taking up a whole chapter of the strangely long book. The negative thoughts I had had back then on the situation were all documented, though I never remembered speaking them aloud, lest writing them. But who else could have known my thoughts?

The next chapter contained the story of the first time I had met Alfred, all those years ago when we were just eight. Once again, my thoughts were all documented, from the ones where I had thought of Alfred as an idiot, to the ones where I had thought of him as probably the best friend I could have ever had. And then there were the thoughts that made me blush in embarrassment, like the time I thought that I was in love with him. Cringing, I turned through those pages quickly, not wanting to reread the humiliating memory of my childish antics.

The book went on to describe every detail of my life. The time I had broken my arm while trying to climb a tree in order to retrieve a ball Alfred had thrown too high. The time I thought that my friends had forgotten about my birthday when really they were throwing me a surprise party. The time Francis dared me to bake cookies without burning them, and surprisingly I did, but not without burning the cookie cutters instead. I laughed at that almost forgotten memory, as I still couldn't figure out how I had done it.

Before I knew it, hours had flown by while I busied myself with turning the pages of my life, immersing myself with the memories of my past, the good and the bad. I had finally reached the current time in the book, the part which told of Alfred and I entering the attic all those hours ago. Strangely, the amount of pages between now and the end of the book appeared to be quite small in number. Perhaps there was a part two.

While skimming through the paragraphs which described me reading the beginnings of the book, I stood up and stretched my aching limbs which had become stiff after sitting there on the floor for so long. As I read about my recent actions, I could hear someone coming up the attic stairs.

"Hey, Arthur, I'm back!"

Alfred shouted those words just as I was reading them in the book. There was only one more paragraph left, and I wanted to finish before Alfred came up, so that I could hide it from him, as I didn't want him to see it. Quickly, I skimmed through the next few lines, subconsciously stepping backwards as I did. The book described me bumping into a bookshelf, and before I could think about what that meant, my hand rushed to my head as I banged it on the side of a bookshelf. I stopped reading for a second as I rubbed the back of my head, but suddenly stopped as a low rumbling noise sounded from above. I grabbed the book and picked up reading again.

" _He stopped reading as his hand rushed to his head which had banged into the bookshelf. He then heard a low rumbling sound, and quickly picked up the book and continued reading. As he read, a twelve pound bowling ball which had been moved from his banging into the bookshelf, began to roll down the top of the shelf."_

I froze and then looked up to see the ball slowly rolling off the edge, but there was still one line left in the book.

" _The ball rolled off the edge of the shelf, and fell onto his head, which resulted in instant death."_

It then hit me why the book ended here, and why the publication date was today.

 _BANG_!

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 **I hope the ending was pretty obvious, if not, then oh well. I'll leave you to wonder.**

 **This was just an idea I got from reading something, and sorry if it was tragic, but I like the ending better this way :D**

 **Review and let me know if this was any good or not. Thanks for reading!**

 **-britishsconesahoy**


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